


The best luck of all

by gonergone



Category: Longmire (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-08-30 02:24:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16756075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gonergone/pseuds/gonergone
Summary: Neither of them mentioned it, but there were older scars beneath the new bruises, signposts of other adventures and near-death experiences.  "I think it'd be beyond lucky if either of us ended up dying of natural causes."





	The best luck of all

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kristophine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kristophine/gifts).



By the time Walt got home from work, the dust from the day still clinging to him and his face practically locked into the dour frown that had become habitual for him in the past few years, Henry had managed to clean everything in the kitchen cabinets and had nearly worked his way into the bathroom. When Walt stopped in the doorway and stared wordlessly at the piles of gleaming dishes drying in the dishrack, Henry merely shrugged, not looking up from the sink.

"Your house is a disaster. You cannot live like this."

"I live like this just fine," Walt pointed out. 

Henry rolled his eyes. He turned off the taps carefully, drying his hands and turning to lean against the counter and watch Walt pull off his coat. "I believe 'fine' is overstating the case. It is a minor miracle that you have not managed to burn the place down or give yourself what I can only assume would be a well deserved case of lockjaw."

The glare that earned him was the kind that would have the Ferg nearly in tears, but Henry was far too inured to Walt's general moodiness to do more than stare steadily back.

"I wouldn't call it a miracle," Walt argued. "Anyway, you already built me stairs for the porch. I figure you've done your best friend duty in terms of caring for my welfare."

"It is cute that you think that such a duty would stop at steps," Henry told him. "Considering." Considering how many times he and Walt had traded turns saving each other's lives. Considering how many times Henry had dropped everything, anything, to help Walt at a moment's notice. Considering that there was no one in the world who knew either of them better than they knew each other. 

Considering.

Walt pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and sat down heavily, setting his hat next to him and running a hand through his hair tiredly. "You're supposed to be resting. This doesn't look like resting to me."

"No one said anything about resting," Henry told him. "I thought I was here for my own protection." The idea still struck him as slightly ludicrous, but the fact remained that he preferred to be able to keep an eye on Walt as much as Walt apparently wanted to keep an eye on him, both of them watching out for each other as easy as breathing. Malachi hated them both, and either of them would make a good target for his next strike. The next strike which Henry and Walt both knew was coming eventually.

"You're not completely healed yet," Walt pointed out. "Resting would probably be a good idea." Henry thought about the last time Walt had said something like that: when Henry had woken up in the hospital after Walt had rescued him on the Crow Reservation, the IV in his right arm and Walt holding his hand tightly, not letting go even when he knew Henry was awake. Then, and now, Walt had said it mildly; a suggestion, not an order. They had, for all intents and purposes, forgiven each other everything without ever talking about it, but there was still a lingering uncertainty that made them both more careful with each other than they would have been otherwise. It occasionally made Henry want to scream.

"I am fine," Henry said, which was at least partly true, depending on your definition. "Resting is not something I am built for. I prefer to do something with my time, and since – "

"Since I won't let you go to work, you figure irritating me by fixing up my house is a decent punishment. The way you're going at it, I wouldn't be surprised if you'd been planning it for a while."

"Yes, I think you will find that I allowed Malachi's men to kidnap me and leave me for dead in the sun just so you would let me into your house so I could do unpaid contracting work," Henry told him dryly. "It was all part of my plan."

Walt's fingers rubbed a small knothole on the table's surface. "Sarcasm isn't really necessary."

"I disagree." Henry glanced over at Walt’s frown and decided it was time to change the subject before they started to really argue, despite his firm opinion that letting loose in anger was the only time Walt ever really let loose at all. Picking a fight with him was sometimes the easiest way to get much genuine emotion, and Henry was ready and willing to do it, if it helped bridge the difficult conversation they had to have. But his friend looked so exhausted and beaten down that it made his heart clench, and he knew he couldn’t go through with it. Sighing inwardly, he tried a gentler approach. "I was thinking of making chicken for dinner. Which meant, of course, that I had to ask Cady to go to the store and bring me some chicken and vegetables, since all you had here was beer and some things in foil I am at a loss to even try to identify."

"Chicken sounds good,” Walt said, nodding slowly. “You trying to get me to eat better?"

Henry smiled, crossing his arms over his chest. "Maybe I do not want you to drop dead of a heart attack anytime soon."

Walt quirked his mouth and stood up. Henry assumed he was going to grab a beer from the fridge, but instead he stopped next to Henry, leaning forward and gently wrapping a large hand around Henry's forearm, turning it. He very lightly traced one of the angry red lacerations that decorated Henry's wrist. They weren't quite as painful-looking as they had been, but the skin would probably be discolored for another couple of weeks. Neither of them mentioned it, but there were older scars beneath the new bruises, signposts of other adventures and near-death experiences. "I think it'd be beyond lucky if either of us ended up dying of natural causes."

"That has always been the case, and yet we are both still here," Henry pointed out.

Walt released his arm carefully, stepping away to open the fridge. "Luck has to run out some time. Even for us."

"Perhaps, but I do not think that will happen before I make sure that you have actual tile around your shower and no exposed wiring." Henry reached past Walt to grab the newly sharpened chef's knife from the dishrack. "While you're in there, will you hand me the onions?"

Walt handed them over, along with a can of Rainier. "It's not your job to look after me."

"It has always been my job to look after you," Henry reminded him.

Walt didn't respond right away, and Henry half expected him to head back to the table without bothering to argue, but instead watching him slice the onions with the kind of thoughtful expression that usually lead to trouble. "You don't _have_ to help me. I think I've probably earned you letting me fall flat on my face a time or two."

Henry considered that. "I know," he said finally. "I also know that occasionally, we even look after each other, so it seems worth it. Of course, I cannot deny that my life would be a lot easier if you would retire already."

Walt snorted into his beer. "What would I do if I decided to retire?"

Henry gestured sweepingly with the knife. "Fix your house would be my obvious suggestion."

"I happen to like my house how it is."

"I do not believe that, and I do not think you do, either. I am well aware that you hate change – "

"I don't hate change. This isn't about _change_ ," Walt protested weakly.

Henry snorted. "Of course it is about change. I know you hate change, and I think that I have spent far too long not insisting that some things should change because I knew it would make you uncomfortable." He sighed. "That is at least partly my fault."

"Uncomfortable?" Walt asked, incredulous. Then, after a beat: "You think it’s your fault that this cabin –"

"You know I am not talking just about the cabin," Henry cut him off quietly. 

That, finally, caught Walt off guard, and he opened his mouth and closed it quickly.

The silence stretched out, and Henry forced himself to wait for Walt to break it. Waiting he was good at; waiting, and cooking. He had always been good at cooking, and at the moment he was mostly just glad to have something to do with his hands to help calm his nerves as he waited for Walt to do… something. They were officially in uncharted territory, and the fact that he had no idea what Walt would say next made him wish he had brought something stronger than Rainier with him from the Pony.

When he glanced over at Walt, Walt was staring out the window, his expression distant. "I don't hate change," he finally said gruffly. "I hate unnecessary change. Change for the sake of change. I'm not – I know things change. I know people change, too."

"Sometimes," Henry agreed. "Although it is hard to know if people have really changed or if they have merely revealed more of themselves over time." He added the onions to the chicken and peppers in the pan and turned on the burner. 

"You've never exactly pushed for change yourself, you know," Walt said, slightly defensively, and Henry had to admit he wasn't wrong.

"For a long time that has been true. I have gotten comfortable and let myself focus on the day to day instead of asking what would really make me happy."

"I suppose a near death experience would be enough to shake anyone out of complacency."

"It wasn't that," Henry admitted. "Mathias came up to my apartment a little while ago. He looked around and told me that I must really love the Red Pony."

"You do."

"He did not mean it as a compliment. I have never put much weight on anything Mathias thinks, but at that moment, seeing my life through his eyes, it all felt… small. It has been turning around in the back of my mind ever since, though I have had a few other things to think about in the meantime. Now that I am out of the hospital I think it is time to work on a few things."

"Meaning what, exactly?" Walt raised an eyebrow, his face still and cautious, the way he looked when he was sure he was about to hear something he didn't like.

That made Henry hesitate, because Walt wasn't stupid. He liked to think that _neither_ of them were stupid, but the last couple of years hadn't exactly been full of good life choices on his own side. Walt wasn't stupid, _and_ he was a detective, so he had to know what Henry was thinking. Henry hadn't exactly been subtle over the past few months, and the way Walt had held hand, the way he looked at him sometimes, Henry had though, he had assumed – 

It was possible, he realized belatedly, that all of his assumptions about what he meant to Walt had been built on a house of cards that was already teetering. He had thought – hoped – that Walt would be on board for this particular change. Would have, like him, been waiting for the right moment, working up the courage to change their close friendship into something almost the same, but more. The fact that Walt looked so unhappy made Henry's heart sink.

"I think there are a lot of things that I have been afraid of doing." Henry forced himself to meet Walt's gaze steadily. "And I would like to rectify that."

Walt was practically scowling. "How?"

If Henry had been a different person or had been less sure that the bond between them was rock solid, he might have wavered. He might have even considered wavering, but he was afraid that he had wasted too much time already. It was time to make his move, and if Walt wasn't remotely interested, then at least Henry would know and stop wondering. 

He tried to remind himself that knowing what Walt's answer would be, even if it wasn't the answer he was hoping for, was still the better option.

It was a little hard to remember that in the moment.

Deciding dinner could wait, he turned off the stove and sat down at the table next to Walt. Walt, who looked at him warily. 

"Well, for one thing," Henry started, taking a deep breath, "I was considering moving. Living above the bar has always been convenient, but there is more to life than convenience."

Walt nodded as if this was more or less what he'd expected. "Where does Deena want to live?"

It took Henry a moment. "Deena?"

"I assume she wants to live somewhere more exciting. "Does she want you to sell the Pony again, too?"

She had suggested that _once_ , a decade ago, and Henry had shut it down immediately. Which Walt knew.

"Deena has nothing to do with this."

Walt visibly relaxed, although his body didn't entirely uncoil. "You sure about that? Whenever you start talking about making changes in your life, it's because she's been suggesting them."

Which… was not altogether untrue, Henry had to admit with a pang. 

"I assure you that Deena and I are very much over, and have been for some time."

Walt shrugged. "I know you said that, but she's hurt you before, and you always managed to forgive her."

"Hurt me, yes. Helped send me to prison, no. This time is different." It was odd, how easy it was to say those words and feel no pain. For years he would have done almost anything for Deena, and Walt was right – would have forgiven her almost anything, too. Now there were only memories, most of them bad. Henry supposed it was progress. It was also a sign that he really and truly had moved on.

There must've been something on his face that finally convinced Walt of the truth, because the last of the tension left his shoulders. "That's good."

"I am, however, considering starting a new relationship."

Walt's eyes widened in surprise, and Henry could see the gears turning in his head as he mentally flipped through all of the people that Henry might be romantically interested in. Henry knew it couldn't possibly be a long list. "So, you're planning to move in with this person?"

"That depends. We have not yet been on what I would consider a proper date, but I can imagine a future in which living together is not out of the question."

Walt's eyes narrowed. Hos frown was back, too. "Why haven't you been on a date yet?"

"Probably because I have not asked," Henry told him. "Walt, would you like to do to dinner with me?"

This time the silence that stretched out between them had an entirely different feel. This was a loud silence, the silence that follows an explosion, a shock, a nuclear bomb that may or may not have just destroyed the close friendship they'd spent practically their whole lives building.

Henry almost couldn't look at Walt, but he couldn't look away, either. He had to know.

After what felt like a year, several years, possibly a decade, a smile broke out across Walt's face. "Well," he said, his voice slightly lower than normal. "It certainly took you long enough."

Henry at once felt a relief so vast he almost couldn't comprehend it. If he hadn't been sitting down, he might've needed to. "I did not realize you were waiting for me," he muttered. 

Walt's mouth twisted wryly. "I wasn't sure if you were ready to move on yet. Hell, I wasn't sure if _I_ was ready to move on yet; I haven't exactly been covering myself with glory in the relationship department. I think – I _know_ \- that was because it wasn't right then."

"And you think this is right?" Henry needed to make sure. This couldn't be a casual thing for either of them. It was all in or nothing, and all in was a tall order.

Walt reached across the table and took his hand carefully, watching Henry's face for his reaction as intently as Henry was watching his, and for a moment Henry had a single wild thought _what a pair we make_ , and then Walt's warm hand was closing on his, threading their fingers together, and it did feel right. Certainly more right than almost anything else in Henry's life.

"Yes," Walt agreed, "let's go to dinner. We can have chicken tomorrow."

Any protest Henry might've made about the half-cooked meal were forgotten when Walt then leaned over and kissed him, slowly, like he was waiting for Henry to stop him if he wanted to, but also slowly, like he was savoring every second of it, and that was as much answer as Henry could've asked for. 

Everything else could wait until later.


End file.
